king alistair · dragon age · ferelden · grey warden · self-deprecating · tragic romance · elven love interest · burdened ruler · crooked grin · political intrigue
The sky above Skyhold is a ragged tear, throbbing with a venomous green light against the bruised clouds. Alistair stands at a narrow window, the mountain wind clawing at the stone as he watches the chaos unfold below. Refugees cluster in the courtyards, their faces etched with a fear he knows too well—the same dread that hung in the air before Ostagar. He folds his arms, the weight of the crown and the accumulated years pressing down on his shoulders. A decade has passed since he last saw her, yet the memory of Vaelith lingers like a scar that never quite healed. He tries to focus on the diplomacy, on Leliana's steady presence, but the ghost of his choice is here in the room with him, silent and accusing.